What I Want
by Ton'dan
Summary: She knew better than to get close to the most immodest man in all of Albion, but she does just that and comes to realize that she wants more, much more than this man with benefits could ever seem to offer.


**Disclaimer:**No ownership over what isn't mine.

**A/N:**This is just something I wrote on a whim one rainy afternoon while I was unwilling to do anything else. I'm debating whether I want to post a couple of follow up chapters because I read it to the end, and it doesn't really feel like an ending so I think I might do that (eventually). It's a little old, because I kind of just shoved it away not really wanting to do anything with it for a while until now. Reviews would be much appreciated, and I wouldn't mind some constructive criticism!

* * *

><p><strong>What I Want<strong>

Up on the highest balcony of the theater sat the Queen, in all her fruitless beauty. She hadn't seen the attractiveness that her aides fed her with as she gazed into the mirror each morning. Her makeup felt thick and faux, and her regal attire didn't feel suiting to her face nor figure. They were mere possessions to help the people remember who she was, because she was the _Queen_, and she had a hefty title to sum up to. But to her knowledge, she'd surpassed just the measly title of "Queen." She'd fought a bloody revolution for Albion's sake, for the people's sake. But what about her sake? Was a queen even allowed a sake?

The seasons blended into each other, becoming a fit-to-bust mesh of emotions. For Abigail, her disposition with her own mind was unsettling. Perhaps she could point her shame at the month. She always became thoughtful in December, the month in which all of her worries returned from the prior ignorant months of the year to haunt her. They were the worries of whether her leniency of giving what the people wanted was straining her benevolence as well as the depth of her pocket. She shamelessly gave her entire life savings away to the treasury. Months of grueling work and treasure hunting, days of nonstop toiling all gone. And all she got in return was a heavy crown dumped on her head to limit her complacency and a dead weight of responsibility on her shoulders to keep what complacency that remained in check.

On top of her emotional distress, everyone she'd ever grown close to was either too busy, dead, or was off in a foreign land parading around for mystical treasures and fortune. It had been a complete set of three years since she last held an official love. Sacrificing the love of the people for the love of one precious boy made corrupt and complete sense, but over again it didn't. It didn't change the outcome which occurred. Her precious Elliot would have left her no matter who she chose to live.

_Hypocrite_. She had no choice in plaguing herself in such a disheartening title. She left Elliot, but what other choice did she have? She had a rebellion to lead. She had a broken country to meld back together. If he truly loved her, he would've waited little more than two and a half weeks before he abandoned that love to find the company of another.

Abigail felt like a bickering child, the left side of her brain arguing with the right. She was arguing with herself, fighting optimism with the forever reoccurring truth. She lost everything that meant anything to her. No longer did she have a father figure to stand over her and make a proper call on the situation. No, there was no longer a Walter, and no longer did she hold a compassionate love for any man.

But then... well, then there was Reaver.

While Ben and Page and every other being of reliance dissociated away from her, whether it be sooner or later, Reaver had, too. But unlike the others, he'd kept his word and returned. He became the next best man in her dull life. He always had a way to make her forget, be it small talk, sex, or just admiring his bold exploits. He was like a foreign creature she couldn't relate to; one she couldn't associate with morality or any glint of selfless decency. She was intrigued.

But the lost Abigail knew Reaver wasn't a man to grow attached to, just a man with benefits. She knew it was purely physical in his mind, and teaching that man to love her the way she needed someone to would be similar to teaching a rock to fly: an unfeasible effort. But though physical he was, it didn't mean he wouldn't understand. Though, it did mean that he saw it purely for his own boon.

On the first night prior to his return, she sent for him. Well, it was in some relation the other way around. She left the castle — alone — to see him at his mansion. The rain was coming down heavy, which made it difficult to see. And dressed only in common clothing and rain-boots, she appeared at his doorstep. There was no crown to form a dent in her cranium, which was probably why the servant didn't recognize her first off.

Her hair was matting in dark streaks against the wet skin of her face, and she could feel the shivers beginning to tighten up her spine. In all honesty, she knew she looked a mess, but even so, she didn't have a care in the world aside from seeing this man; this self-indulging, manipulating man.

"I'm here to see Reaver."

The maid looked her over before stepping out of the doorway to allow Abigail inside. "Master Reaver is in his quarters, and I warn you: he wished not to be disturbed. Your arrival is unannounced and within an inconvenience."

Abigail's mouth twitched into the hint of a smile. It felt refreshing as she was talked down to for once. It made her feel like a person, a real human being, which was something they didn't practice in the castle. It was always, "Yes, your highness," or, "As you wish." Never had they questioned her, and she so deeply despised it.

"I will give him word of your arrival. Please remain here for the moment."

So there Abigail stood, in all her dripping and common-dressed glory. She lifted the hood from her head and removed the stray locks from her view, shivering with each move she made in her cold and soggy over-garments. The sudden warmth of the mansion made the hairs on back of her neck stand on end, causing her to wish she'd chosen a more proper outfit for the weather.

"Just who would be visiting me at such an hour?" His voice strode threw her ears, enticing a certain joy within her core.

"I apologize, sir. She did not say."

"Well, why didn't you ask—?" And there he stood, atop the center staircase, looking down at her with a bemused expression as his eyes scanned over her rain-drenched form. He was undressed from his usual apparel, wearing only breeches and half-buttoned undershirt. But regardless, he remained handsome, as he always had.

"Oh! Your majesty!" he said whilst descending the steps, "What brings you to my humble abode at this hour? ...And in that, one might say, _banal _attire?"

The maid quietly gasped and rushed down the steps, and then out of the main room. She returned with a bath towel.

Abigail sighed, "I-I thought I might drop by." Her impersonal tone would have came off as casually as it usually did, had it not been undermined due to her shiver while she used the dry cloth to wipe her face.

"Is that all?" he responded with the raise of a well-manicured brow.

"...No. I wanted to talk," she spoke, her words only half-false. Her eyes ventured to the attentive maid beside him.

He seemingly caught on and turned to the servant. "Yes. Well, fetch our guest some more comfortable clothing. We'll be in my quarters."

Suddenly, she began to rethink her plans. She wasn't sure of how Reaver would react to the fact that she only wanted to see him. She sighed heavily. What was she going to say? She was lonely? That she needed to be around a man?

His quarters were thankfully dimly lit because she felt slightly self-conscious as she undressed with Reaver in the room. Yet she still insisted on changing behind his large bed board.

"My dear Queen, I already promised not to peek."

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she looked down at herself. "Do you have anything a tad more... modest?" The maid gave her a lacy nightgown, though it was short enough to be a scanty blouse. She brought the robe which she was gratefully provided with, up over her shoulders so she could slide her arms through the sleeves and tie the belt around her waist.

"Now darling, I live here all by myself. Be lucky I have any women's clothing at all. Besides, the robe should cover most of you." She tried not to think about the kind of woman who wore silky article last.

She stepped out into view and immediately noticed his eyes wandering, but quickly, before she could say anything, he cleared his throat. "Well, what was it exactly that you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, uhm..." Her mind was chasing for an answer that helped her not sound so much like a lonely woman, because she was indeed just that. Thinking back to why she'd decided on leaving the castle that night brought her to a blank painting in her mind. There was just nothing there to expand. Reaver cut down deception with his own, which would only pin her to the untruth.

"Am I to watch you twiddle your thumbs all night?"

She sighed once more. She truly had no idea of what to say, and now that it be mentioned, she never could be the ideal liar. So her guise caved in on her mind, an honest sigh winding through her bangs as she plopped down onto the edge of his bed. "I was tired of being cooped up in the castle. I just needed a special company."

"And so you trudged alone through the pouring rain and in commoner rags just to see me? I know I am quite special indeed, but to know that I am so special in _your_ eyes. Well! I am truly flattered." He stepped closer, and with each step he took, Abigail became more and more unsure of why she was there. "So tell me, my dear. You came all this way to my manor _just_to be in my company?"

She didn't know where he was going with his semi-rhetorical question, but just with the way he peered down at her gave her the feeling that he had an intention. An intention that required permission. Even yet, in her state, she wasn't in the mood to delve into the heart of his games, so she chose a reply that could uphold her frankness.

"Yes," she answered, half sure of where that answer would lead her. The deviant leant down to meet her eye-to-eye, placing his hands on either side of her, causing the bed to dip slightly. His actions lured her eyes to glance at his inviting mouth, watching it curve slowly into mischief.

His face drew closer, seeming to ward her backwards onto the bed with each enclosing inch. When she had no room left to retreat, his lips were free to make their advance, gently hovering over her cheek. There was the heat again, her cheeks must've been radiating with it, which gave way to the chuckle brewing in Reaver's throat. He must've been able to see straight through her. She felt so vulnerable right then, and maybe that was why she wanted to see him. He could make her, the selfless and recently remote queen, feel like a woman again.

He climbed onto the bed, trapping her with his body, his breath tickling slowly towards her ear. "I think I know exactly what you mean." He retreated from her ear only to eagerly connect his lips with hers. He did it as if he'd been wanting to do it since they'd entered his quarters. His kiss was unlike anything she'd ever expected. She expected a hollow kiss, one that would have no impact. But this was the opposite. There was a flicker in her core that grew with each caress of his experienced tongue, as his fingers tugged at the bow which kept her robe tied; a flicker that she adored so endearingly that she allowed him to take her that night.

Everything began that night. It was originally little visits here and there, not every one of them was passionate. Sometimes they would just talk, or as Abigail had intended that night, would just be in the other's company.

And this night at the theater was supposedly one of those nights.

Her ponders were strewn all over the walls of her mind, and the weight of those thoughts caused her stable mentality to crumble. Why couldn't she live so simply, just as Reaver did? Why did she have to fall into such an aching love with making the people happy that she, in the process, corrupted her mind with regret and misery?

An honest sigh escaped her chest. Her torso felt tight as the stress collected in her lungs. Her spine remained molded into its noble upright position, but with that small bit of air gone, her back loosened slightly. Her tired eyes wandered over to Reaver's majestic form beside her. It piqued her curiosity how he could be so elegantly casual. That quality made him likeable to her even at the withstanding acceptance of his careless nature.

Glancing away from him and then to the performance transpiring onstage, she found that she didn't want to be there. Then thinking of arriving back at the castle, she realized that she didn't want to be there either. Too many memories would be there, just waiting for her arrival.

She stood from her seat upon deciding that she would choose a destination once she met some fresh winter air. She placed a light hand on Reaver's shoulder, causing her temporary companion to turn away from the stage below.

"I'm leaving. Do you want to stay?" her words not able to be any softer.

"Oh heavens no, my dear. This particular show is just so begrudgingly _terrible_," he announced, maintaining his utmost and unmistakably loud honesty. Without anything left worth saying, he stood; his top hat giving him quite the extra height above her head.

"Ladies first," he said while motioning for the staircase.

As she was descending the spiraling steps, she could feel his presence behind her and she discreetly enjoyed it. She felt cared for in an uncontrollable way. After all, it was Reaver, the man who held absolutely no emotional value for anything nor one. She couldn't help but feel that she played at least a slight emotional role in his life if he agreed to come along with her. But perhaps she just looked that pitiful when she asked him.

The steel wind nipped at her face the moment she stepped outside, which immediately caused her to stand stiffly once she was out of the way of the door. Reaver on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by the brisk weather, extending a long arm out to secure around her trembling shoulders.

"I don't want to go back." Abigail's words, though stifling the cold that enveloped her, were firm.

"Then where shall you go?" He pulled her along towards the waiting caravan at the gate.

Her eyes wandered down with her thoughts, watching their feet crunch in the snow. "I could go with you."

"And just what, my sweet, do you suppose I do with you?" She didn't have to look at his face to notice that thin grin sliding over his lips, and – almost deliberately – she let it fly right over her head.

"I promise not to bother you. You can just dump me in the study. I can entertain myself with a book or two." Truly, she wished he'd pick up the hint that she just wanted to be with him, around him, or even within the same premises as him. There was no sexual desire brewing in her core, just a shy and wispy loneliness.

She already felt his hand sliding down from her shoulders, knowing where it was headed. Her steps halted as she shrugged off his arm.

"Reaver." Her serious tone had returned from its shy intermission and that time there wasn't an innuendo to accommodate his reply. His only response was a head tilt and the lift of his left brow as she took a quick step in front of him.

"I have a request." Whether it was the icy wind chilling her bones or her own audacity that gave her such courage, it didn't really matter. The raw speed of her actions expressed the loneliness she held as she hooked her hand onto the back of his neck and yanked him down to connect their lips.

Their mouths slid smoothly together, his devious fingers creeping under the flap of her coat to tighten a hold around her back. But before his charms could overpower her downcast soul, she retrieved her lips, and put up a weak protest against his arms.

"That wasn't my request."

His smirk curved upward into curiosity. "Oh?"

She paused a moment contemplating whether she truly wanted to proceed with her request; because once she opened her mouth to speak, she knew that every word she wanted to say would spill from her tongue.

"I want to be with you. Just for tonight."

"Dear, I've been with you many times, just like tonight."

She sighed, her breath forming a cloud from her lips. He didn't understand her. "Reaver, I don't want to be just another woman to bed. I don't want to be your little harlot."

"Darling, you're not a harlot. You're a queen."

Again, she sighed. "I'm not fooling around. This is all I want tonight."

Leaving no time for him to formulate a response, she dragged his face down again with her cold palms. He chuckled against her mouth as he made sure his hat wouldn't fall off, quickly finding the angle of her game and then willingly stepping into it.

In the moment, their kiss was fierce, impassioned. Curious tongues of matched skill sliding through each other's mouth in tender strokes. But then in one prompt moment, Abigail felt the chasteness bubbling up in her belly. She didn't want sex. She just wanted one sweet kiss, so she seized control. Her lips slowed considerably, pulling away slightly to tame Reaver's fervor. He pressed into her hot and gentle lips, hoping to arouse her – to get her back in the mood, but to no avail.

And at last, his kiss followed her own, showing her to the more temperate side of his many adorations. Her hands remained gently on his chest, and soon one leisure hand grazed over the fur on his coat and up to hold his cheek, grazing his skin with her thumb before venturing further back beyond his ear and looping around his neck.

The door to the theater burst open, which compelled her to reluctantly but immediately withdraw from their kiss, her eyes casting a shy stare at the people who tore her from the moment. Even though her body was dissatisfied, her mind was grateful. Reaver sighed, his breath ruffling her bangs, yet it sounded more like a subtle hiss of discontent, which knowing Reaver meant that it probably was.

"Well, to my manor, then?" His question was more of a demand as he replaced his arm over her shoulders and pulled her along to the carriage.

She had a feeling that he was in the mood for exactly what she wanted to avoid that night, and after all it was her fault. She should've known better than to fall into their kiss, that was what he wanted, but not her. She wanted him to love her even though a part of her doubted he ever could. She was tired of pretending that he knew because in actuality, he didn't. He hadn't the slightest clue on what she wanted, because Reaver was Reaver. Everything he did would have to be for his benefit, and she wanted that to change for once.

He held the carriage door open for her, and once she stepped inside, the air felt warmer; most likely because there was no wind to clutch her bones. And after getting inside and setting off for Reaver's mansion, the two placed on opposite sides, Reaver had already begun to stare. The desire glinted over his face, showing both his fortitude and want, putting her on slight edge.

She wasn't staring back to return a like-gaze, she was looking for a much more intemerate glint, which deep down she knew she wasn't going to find. There was, in fact, nothing intemerate about this man. He was as likely to shoot you as he was to bed you. How could Abigail, the queen of Albion - the savior of Albion, be so infatuated with this being of self-indulgence?

Her eyes averted to the carriage window, staring at the gusting snow. "You don't understand."

"And what am I not understanding?" She could hear his cane tap on the wood floor of the carriage.

"What I want." And he never would.


End file.
